


Steve's Notebook

by mrshopkirk



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Comfort/Angst, Coping, Crying, Death, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Mention of torture, Nightmares, Other, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Survivor Guilt, Swearing, Tears, Unconditional Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22910590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrshopkirk/pseuds/mrshopkirk
Summary: After 70 years in the ice, Steve tries to deal with his losses and guilt, and writes it down in a notebook.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Steve's Notebook

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on Tumblr years ago.  
Not proofread.  
Entries in notebook are in italic.

_I dreamt about the train again. Ever since Bucky returned I dream about it almost every night. I thought about telling Sam but I don’t want him to be a counselor to me, I need him more as a friend. But a therapist is out of the question. I’m too afraid of someone spilling the beans about Captain America being a nervous and emotional wreck. People can’t lose the Captain but I don’t know if I want to be him anymore. I’ve made too many bad choices carrying that shield. I try to hold on but I don’t know what to hold on to._

Steve’s been at the gym for days now, hanging from a beam high in the air trying to catch a punching bag he hung on another beam a bit further. Hanging onto the beam with one hand, he tries to get a hold of it and pull it closer. He fails every time, only getting more desperate and more exasperated each day. It worries Sam and Nat but he refuses to talk about it, storming out of the room every time they bring it up, roughly pushing them aside. He thought it would make his nightmares subside but it only seems to spur them on. Back in his room, Steve punches the wall out of pure, unadulterated frustration, making his knuckles bleed. He relishes the feeling.

That night, he dreams about the train once more. No matter what he does, he loses Bucky again and again. People are pointing and laughing at him.

“Look at that scrawny little guy.” - “How could you ever save him?” - “It’s your fault he died.” He hears Peggy’s voice, Howard’s, his mother and the worst of all, Bucky’s voice. “It’s your fault, Stevie, you killed me. It was you. It was always you.”

When he wakes up, he can’t get rid of the voices in his head. The echoes of the things they said, hunt him. His shirt sticks to his skin; sweat drips from his forehead and hair. It feels like ice is running through his veins and the walls are closing in on him. He needs a glass of water, anything to get rid of the taste of bile rising in his throat but he doesn’t make it to the bathroom. His legs feel numb and he drops to the floor. Pulling up his knees, he rocks back and forth. So Steve stays on that spot on the floor, crying until the voices in his head dwindle.

***

It’s been a rough day and Bucky’s avoiding everyone in the tower. He doesn’t feel like talking but he is too restless to sit in his room so he goes to the one place he always feels welcome, Steve’s room. There’s no answer when he knocks on the door. Trying the doorknob he feels it unlock immediately.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Why does this door just unlock?”

“Mr. Rogers has instructed me to give you access to his room at all times, sir. He is currently in a meeting. Shall I call him for you?”

“No. Why would you? There’s no emergency.”

“Mr. Rogers has made it a number one priority to respond to you, sir.”

Bucky chuckles. That punk is unbelievable. While waiting for him and enjoying the comfort Steve’s room gives him, he notices an open notebook on his desk. Though he knows he shouldn’t, curiosity takes over and Bucky lets his fingers roam over the pages. It’s a diary, much like the one he has. But a diary is private, too private but just as he is about to walk away; he sees an entry with his name.

_Bucky had a bad day today. A stupid movie about a train made him almost bolt to his room. I excused myself saying I wanted to check up on him. Which I did but I wanted to hide in my room. I hate trains. I always will. _

Bucky sighs and turns a page. It goes on and on.

_Sam told me about Riley. How he saw him fall. How they retrieved his body to give it a proper burial. The determination in his eyes and voice when he talked about getting Riley’s body back, made an otherwise good day turn bad. Guilt gripped me by the throat. Why didn’t I go look for Bucky? I knew where he fell. Why didn’t I try and find his body to send home to his family? I could have even saved him from a life of misery. And even if I couldn’t, I could have given his family closure. I don’t know why I didn’t. I have asked myself so many times over the years but I come up with nothing._

_Nattie told a little bit about her training in the red room. It makes me relieved I was only stuck in ice. I wasn’t tortured; I wasn’t made into something I didn’t want. Although sometimes I feel like I made myself this way and I don’t know how I can undo it._

_A few weeks ago Nattie met a teacher and she asked me to make an appearance at the school as they are learning about WWII and patriotism. “It’s a little girls’ school,” she said. I should have known that my idea of little girls isn’t the same as Nattie’s. I spent an entire day getting swamped by 16 to 18 year old girls. I’m still fishing phone numbers out my clothes. It’s worse than being doused in confetti. _

Bucky chuckles. He remembers that day. Some had little hearts drawn on them or the remains of red lipstick kisses. They had a good laugh. It was a good day. He looks further in the dairy, hoping to find another joyful entry amidst the disturbing guilt-ridden ones. But he can’t find one, leaving him utterly deflated. It just gets worse and worse.

_The guilt for having wanted Bucky with me on the missions is consuming me. I was new to the army, still on a high from that one mission, that one rescue mission that got me my best friend back. Somewhere in the euphoria I lost sight of the fact he was tortured, that maybe he wanted to go home. He told me over and over again that is was his choice to be there. But looking back now, we had different motives to fight. My heart was in fighting the enemy, bringing down Hydra, ending the war, victory. His heart held only the need to protect me, regardless his own sanity and health. I_ _knew he had nightmares, I saw the fading smile when he thought I wasn’t looking, I saw the dark circles under his eyes grow bigger and bigger. And I thought it would go away after a while, that it just needed time. But now, now that I face my own demons, I fully realize that the horrors never go away. I have my own nightmares now and I have no idea how to deal with them. I feel more guilt because I only added to his. I wonder if I could have saved him if I had told him to go home. Maybe he would have listened and he would have been safe. _

Getting up from the chair, Bucky walks over to the window, staring at the trees and mulling over what he just read. Steve will never forgive himself, no matter what anyone says, he thinks. When his phone chimes, claiming his attention, he leaves Steve’s room, determined to try and find a way to help his friend.

***

Stepping into his room, Steve immediately notices someone has been in there. Nothing seems to be missing though.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y? Who has been in here?”

“Mr. Barnes, sir. He was in here a while but has returned to his room.”

“Why didn’t you call me? Did he need me?” Steve hurriedly asks.

“No, sir. He didn’t need you,” and just that like that, the wind is knocked right out of Steve’s chest. He didn’t need him. His shoulders slump and he drags his feet as he makes his way over to his bed. The whole world needs him expect the one person he wants to need him. His head buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees he calls the A.I. again.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y? Did he tell you why he was here?”

“Mr. Barnes did not seem in distress, sir. He spent some time sitting at your desk.”

Steve’s head snaps up. His desk. His diary. Looking at it, he notices it’s now lying open at a different page. Bucky must have read it. Bucky has read _his_ diary.

Bucky has read all of his fears. What if he never wants to talk to him again? He could have waited for him but he didn’t. He left. He left. He left. He doesn’t need me. Bucky doesn’t need me.

Steve’s heart starts racing, his breathing’s shallow like his throat is being choked and he’s suffocating. Trembling he sits down at his desk. Steve doesn’t have a clue how long he has been staring at the notebook but when he finally comes to his senses, he notices a neatly folded piece of paper sticking out from between the pages. He’s shaking when picks up the note. It’s not written in the beautiful and elegant handwriting his friend used to have. It’s not fluent anymore but still very much Bucky. Steve is deciding if he should read the note or not, not knowing whether it’s going to shatter his heart and hopes or not. He takes a deep breath and opens the little piece of paper.

_Dear Steve,_

_I’m sorry I read your diary. I didn’t read it all but I guess it’s filled with the same regrets and memories over and over again with some good days in between, just like mine. I don’t know how to put this into words but I’ll try. I don’t know if I can say our friendship outweighs all that’s happened to me and what I did. I just mean, if giving up our friendship back then would have prevented everything, I probably would have done it. I think I would have gone home and that’s probably not what you _want_ to hear. But there is something that you _need_ to know though. I can tell you, with all my heart, that if I was given the choice back then between you and me suffering that fate, knowing all that would happen for years to come, I would have chosen me over you anytime. I would have done it for you, Steve, because you are worth it. I’m still fucked up and don’t know what to do with myself most of the time but I don’t want you bottling everything up like you always did (I remember, punk) so just talk to me. Or sit with me. We’ll put couch cushions on the floor._

_I’m still with you till the end of the line,_

_Bucky_

Steve has read that note over and over again for the past days. He has successfully avoided Bucky during that time, not knowing how to process the information or how to act around him. Bucky hasn’t forgiven him like he always hoped he one day would. He never blamed him to begin with. He reads the note again. _“You are worth it.”_ The words make his heart skip a beat every time. I’m still worthy of his friendship.

Clutching the note in his hands, Steve finds himself outside his friend’s door. His resolve to finally face his friend is crumbling under the weight of the note and doubt slowly fills him. Bucky offered him the little help he can give but Steve can’t help but worry if it won’t it set him back. So he lowers his hand, deciding against knocking on the door but it suddenly opens, revealing the stoic expression of his friend. A smile makes its way on Bucky’s face and he steps aside to let him in. Steve hesitates but forgets to breathe when he takes in Bucky’s room. He hasn’t been here in a while, not since he first came to the tower and the room had no personal touch. Nowadays they’re either in the common room or Steve’s room. The room bathes in warm colors, dark red and ochre, and everything looks or feels soft. Probably a reaction to the cold and grey colors he faced in Siberia. Standing in one of the corners is a table with some art supplies and a comfy looking old chair with a stack of books next to it. It looks… like a home almost, more so than his own room.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Bucky softly says while closing the door behind them. “You got my note then?”

Steve nods, tentatively walking towards the corner, slowly letting his hands slide over the brushes and pencils.

“I read, you draw, we talk,” Bucky states and takes a seat, a hopeful smile on his face. He let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Steve smiles in return. A smile that finally reaches the corner of his best friend’s eyes and Bucky is glad. He has no idea how to help Steve but then again neither of them even know how to help themselves. This is it, the best Bucky has to offer and Steve gladly accepts. And so it happens. Steve draws, Bucky reads, a comfortable silence surrounding them.

After a while, without looking up from his paper, Steve murmurs.

“I would have done it for you too.”

“I know, Steve, I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. I'd love to hear from you!


End file.
